


Sugar, Sugar (Aww, Honey, Honey)

by anoneknewmoose



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M, Feeding Fetish, Kid Fic, Podfic Welcome, belly love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-01
Updated: 2011-08-01
Packaged: 2017-10-22 01:43:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/232317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anoneknewmoose/pseuds/anoneknewmoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Give a man a dozen cupcakes...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sugar, Sugar (Aww, Honey, Honey)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mwestbelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mwestbelle/gifts).
  * Inspired by [she's my missus and i'm her man](https://archiveofourown.org/works/231661) by [mwestbelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mwestbelle/pseuds/mwestbelle). 



> For my boo's 22nd birthday. ♥ Love you, Mama J!
> 
> (Thanks to everyone that looked over this or encouraged me even though it's not their kink. I appreciate you.)
> 
>  
> 
> WARNING: This fic contains a couple in a committed BDSM relationship engaging in a feeding/stuffing scene. If you have food related triggers or if adipophilia makes you uncomfortable, please do not read this fic.

"Got your bag, baby?" Gerard leans in past Rose's pigtails to grab her bedroll and pillow. She hasn't let him help her out of the van since she was three.

"Yes, Daddy, come _on_." Rose is wearing a Superman t-shirt and a pink tiered skirt, shifting her weight eagerly in her little Doc Martens they'd decorated together.

"Coming, coming," Gerard says. He doublechecks that they haven't forgotten anything, then holds the key fob out to her for punch "close door." The motor's still fucked and it takes two hard hits from his hip before it actually _shuts_. Rose is halfway up the walk by then, because Jessie has the front door open and they're screaming.

"Thanks, Alice." Gerard hands over the bedding and pushes his sunglasses up his head as he rolls his eyes at Jessie's mom. The girls are inside with the rest of the party now, making enough noise that even Gerard winces. "Sorry we're late."

"It's fine, Frankie called," Alice says. "Wardrobe disaster, she said?"

"God," Gerard groans, rolling his eyes. "You have not seen tears until you have seen a six year old dump sweet and sour pork on white jeans."

"Oh, Lord," Alice says. She makes a face in sympathy and tsks. "We'll do our best not to return her messy."

"Don't worry about it, there's a car wash down the street." They both laugh but there's a crash from the den and Alice runs, waving over her shoulder.

God, kids. Though their herd of dogs isn't any less destructive.

Gerard backs the minivan out carefully--Friday night in the suburbs means Big Wheels popping into blind spots like magic. The Richards' house isn't actually far enough that he needed to drive Rose over, but he has errands to run before he heads home. The dry cleaning needs picking up, then dinner from Mamma Mia's. It earworms him every fucking time, but their sauce is pretty decent. Besides, their gluten-free pasta is actually _good_.

Anyway, dinner is mostly for Frankie. The _really_ important thing is the dozen assorted oversized cupcakes from Gloria's.

"Smell great as usual, Tammy," Gerard says. He can never resist opening the box and taking a deep whiff while the shopgirl rings him up.

"Thanks, Mr. Way." Tammy's hair is blue today and she smiles at him as she hands over his card. "And I threw in one of the new flavors--white chocolate macadamia."

"Oh, the missus will like that." Gerard waggles his eyebrows at her and signs his receipt.

It's a good thing Frankie never does the cupcake run because he shudders to think what his punishment would be for _that_ implication.

After all, Frankie would never eat his sweets.

 

***

 

The missus does not, in fact, look anything like a missus when Gerard gets home. Sure, Rose's toys are all over the house. There are even more dog toys, half-chewed bones, and ratty blanket nests. It's all disgustingly domestic. It's great.

But Frankie is in sweats she stole years ago and cut to calf length, with a tank top small enough that it stretches tight over her breasts. She's barely changed in the decade since they met. A bit of softness around her middle, smaller earrings, a nose stud instead of a ring. More tattoos, black and grey shadows and bursts of color covering her skin. Her hair's short and spiky these days, standing in a fauxhawk above her face, lined from a nap. She's smoking a fresh cigarette out of the corner of her mouth while she paints her toes propped up on the porch rail. They're a deep brilliant red, a color she doesn't pull out often these days, and Gerard shivers.

She's not anybody's picture of June Cleaver. Gerard always hated "Leave It to Beaver."

Frankie finishes a last toe and grunts in satisfaction. She ashes and tips her chair back, holding one hand out. "Hey, you."

"Hey, baby," Gerard says. He slides his hand into hers and her fingers wrap around his palm like tumblers in a lock. She kisses the back of his hand, leaving a faint red smear, and holds it against her shoulder.

"Our little bratling squared away?" Frankie's voice is dry and Gerard snorts.

"She didn't pour sauce in her lap on purpose. And yes, I left Alice alone with the whole lot of them."

"She let John escape? Sucker," Frankie says. She shakes her head and presses her cheek against their hands. They share the cigarette, passing it back and forth while they watch the dogs snuffle around the back yard.

Eventually, the cherry burns down to the filter. Gerard stubs it out and drops the butt in the coffee can nailed high on the wall, well out of toddler range. He leaves the dogs to Frankie. This time of year, they have to be checked for ticks and burrs before they come inside, even if they're just going into their room.

Gerard sets the table, everyday cutlery and plates and glasses they got at IKEA when they bought the house. Everything's ready; all he has to do is dump the pasta and sauce in a saucepan while the bread warms. He bops around as he works, and any jazz hands are strictly between he and Rose's drawings on the refrigerator.

"How _can_ I resist you, that's a good question," Frankie says behind him. She's always been incapable of entering a room without announcing her presence.

Gerard pauses mid-chorus and shakes his ass at her, pointedly. "Pretty sure you can't."

"Hmm." Frankie squints as she walks over. Her hands run around his waist and her chin digs hard into his shoulder. "Pretty sure it's the other way around, babe."

"I'll never tell," Gerard says. Frankie snorts in his ear. Gerard turns his head and kisses her. Her breasts and belly are pressed flush against his back, nipples hard, when she pulls back and makes a face at him. He smirks, unrepentant.

"Asshole," Frankie says. She takes a step away to duck under his arm and cuddle into his side. "Fuck, that smells good."

"It should, it's your favorite."

"Damn right," Frankie says. Her fingers curl, press into the flesh beside his belly button, a promise and a dare in scarlet shellac. Gerard shivers and focuses on stirring, rolling his toes against the tile.

They each have a glass of wine with dinner, thick and rich against the tongue. They've had this date a hundred thousand times over the years. It was Ramen and boxed wine back in college. Now it's vegan penne in tomato sauce with a midrange bottle from an actual wine shop.

Frankie's smile in the candle light is the same, though. Well, almost; it has an eager twist to it tonight, hungry in a way that has nothing to do with dinner. They both pretend it's not there. Dinner is really the appetizer, for relaxing and stretching and reminding his body what they're about. Gerard's portion is smaller than Frankie's and he eats it quickly to give himself time between courses.

But Frankie lingers over her dinner, even soaking up sauce with pieces of bread and holding them out to him. Gerard wrinkles his nose, but he eats them.

"Drama queen," Frankie says, eyes sparkling.

"Says the farmer to the goose."

"Poor baby." Frankie laughs and leans back in her chair, swirling the dregs of her wine. She brings her foot up and presses the heel into his belly. "Don't feel like much of a goose."

"Well, I've only had my first course," Gerard says. He's not hungry, but he's not full, just warm and a little lazy from the wine. He rubs his thumbs into the ball of her foot, enjoying the sensation of the pasta settling.

"We'll have to fix that." Frankie glances at the bag from Gloria's. Her tongue darts out, pink and wet against her lips, and Gerard grins. She's so fucking transparent.

"I guess. I mean, if you really want to," Gerard says.

Frankie's off his lap in a flash, flipping him the bird when he laughs. "Fuck you, asshole, go get in bed."

"But the dishes!" Gerard makes a shocked face as he stands up.

"That's why we bought a dishwasher, honey." Frankie's pouring milk into a pitcher; bouncing on her toes doesn't help, but she gets it done. He pulls a glass out of the cabinet and takes the pitcher in time to watch her carefully, almost reverently, pull the cupcakes out of the bag. The two pink boxes are big enough that she looks even more pint-sized than normal when she and glares at him. "Now, march."

"Aye, cap'n," Gerard drawls. His salute is more like reaching down to grab his dick, but close enough. His wife's eyes go all wide and she flails a leg toward his ass to make him move, so it works.

They end up on the bed, making out half-heartedly. Frankie's distracted, straddling his lap and petting his belly while they kiss. Their shirts are off, and Gerard's wearing his jeans with the elastic. They stretch when Frankie moans and plucks at the waistband. "Ready, Gee?"

"Sure, yeah." Gerard's half hard from her riding him. He leans forward and buries his face in her tits, breathing deep of her scent of smoke and sweat. "God, baby."

"You know it." Frankie's hand runs through his hair, pushing his head back. She's smiling down at him and he beams back at her. "Mm, good boy." He feels her thighs squeezing and knows it's involuntary. It's too subtle to be on purpose.

Frankie Iero is about as far from subtle as she can. She proves that two seconds later by picking up a cupcake and pushing it against his mouth--bottom side first, the way he likes it.

Gerard moans for her and takes as big a bite as he can. Gloria's cupcakes are fucking delicious, tender and perfect. He keeps his eyes on her hungry face, trusting her to feed him. It doesn't matter if he gets icing all over his face--she just wipes it up so he can suck it off her fingers.

The first two are easy, a warm up. Gerard tries to eat fast, before his stomach realizes what's going on, but Frankie pouts and pulls his third cupcake away. "Stop that, you'll make yourself sick."

Gerard groans and rolls his eyes, resting his cheek against her chest. "God, I hate you."

"I know. Isn't it great?" Frankie giggles and kisses him, licking deeply enough he could almost swallow her tongue. She moans as she breaks away, running a hand down over his stomach before she reaches out for the milk. "Sip. We need to cleanse your palate."

Gerard really needs to start monitoring Frankie's Food Network time.

He drinks, though. Gloria's cupcakes are moist but the milk is cold and refreshing. Frankie leans in and licks his milk mustache clean for him, humming, and says, "Does a body good."

"Uh huh. Number three, please." Gerard's starting to feel full, but he's got a long way to go. Still, Frankie won't let him rush things. She kisses him between bites and rubs his belly between cakes.

By the sixth cupcake, they're practically dry humping as Frankie feeds him. His dick is hard, pressed against the zipper of his jeans, and he can feel the waistband cutting into his skin. "Frankie. Frankie, c'mon."

"Halfway, babe," Frankie coos and pets wet sticky hair off his forehead. He realizes he's sweating and groans. Frankie doesn't notice. Her hands are at his waist, running lightly over the skin that's getting sore, feeling how stretched the elastic is. She pulls it down half an inch and curses when she sees the marks left behind. "God, fuck, look at you."

"Like that?" He feels odd, ebullient and proud. Frankie nods and squirms down to kiss the skin exposed as she undoes his fly.

"I really fucking do, you know that." Gerard sighs when his belly is finally freed of its prison. It's damn near a better feeling than Frankie's breath hot on his cock.

She strips them both quickly, no wasted movement, and she's back on top of him as soon as the clothes are off. They kiss again, but this time Frankie's hands are in his hair and her thighs are around his waist.

"Jesus Christ, Frankie," Gerard says. She tastes like chocolate and she's already soaking wet where she's spread open and grinding against his belly. Gerard groans and he _tries_ to buck up under her, but he can't.

It makes her squeal like a schoolgirl. His fucking wife, shit. Frankie beams down at him. "Oh, honey, you're way too full for that, aren't you?"

"Shit. Yes," Gerard grumbles. He takes a deep breath when she dismounts and the pressure of her weight disappears.

"Too full for yoga," Frankie purrs. She cuddles up beside him and holds another cupcake out. "But not too full for dessert."

"Dessert?"

"You've only finished the main course, baby."

"Fuck," Gerard gasps. They're just talking about eating _cupcakes_ but her voice is as dark and excited as if he was on his leash and she was beating the crap out of him. He stretches his arms up over his head, trying to stretch out his middle. It only kind of works, but it's enough for him to start his seventh cupcake.

Frankie saves his favorite flavors for last, the ones with surprise flavors in the middle. It helps with the fatigue and the ache in his jaw. By the last bite of the eighth, they've switched roles: she's having to encourage him now to get them down at all. There's no chance of eating them too quickly. His entire focus narrows to her hand, to sucking crumbs and icing off her fingers.

He doesn't know what the count is; he has to concentrate.

Bite, chew, swallow, lick; rinse and repeat.

"Gee. Baby, focus," Frankie says.

He realizes it's not the first time she's said his name and blinks at her, trying to drag himself out of the food drunk fugue. "Frankie?"

"Hey." Frankie's smiling, looking at him as proud and happy as he's ever seen her. "You're doing so good, babe. One more."

The more Gerard wakes up the more he realizes how _full_ he is, stuffed to the absolute max. He's pretty sure if he eats that last cupcake it won't even make it down his throat. His entire body feels like it's full of lead and he can't take a deep breath.

He nods anyway and gives her as strong a smile as he can. "One more."

Frankie's hips jerk against his and she moans, "Fuck, I love you." She keeps cooing at him as he eats the last cupcake in sloppy tiny bites, dropping crumbs everywhere. "So hot, baby, you're so big, your stomach's like a rock, fuck."

The last bite is really more her mashing the last bit of cake into his mouth and stroking down his neck, like he's some sort of baby animal. Perversely, it actually works, his tired muscles following her lead. When he finally licks his lips and opens his mouth to show her it's all gone, she lets out the filthiest fucking groan. She kisses him like she's going to crawl inside of him, humping his side. He can't tell if her cunt or his swollen, stretched skin is hotter.

It occurs to Gerard, belatedly, that his dick is not in the game. "Shit."

"Hm?" The obvious effort it takes for Frankie to look at his face instead of his belly is almost charming.

"My dick," Gerard says, pouting at her. He doesn't even want to fuck, he barely wants to talk, but _still_.

Frankie laughs at him, because she's an asshole. "Baby, we're not going to fuck yet." She grins and licks up his neck. "I want to play."

"Kay," Gerard says. He feels dumb, like his brain is muted, and all he can do is watch as Frankie slides onto his thighs. She looks like it's Christmas and Halloween all at once, like she's got a present she can't wait to unwrap. Every time she kisses his skin, down his chest and up over his distended stomach, she sighs happily.

Frankie kisses every inch of him while he lays there. He's so lethargic that it's work to pet her hair, but he wants to at least touch her if he can't fuck her. Stupid blood and its stupid limited supply. Stupid cupcake dick.

He groans when she mouths over his soft cock, teasing at the wrinkles and folds. He's still horny, but he can't get hard. He'd forgotten how much Frankie likes him soft, unfortunately, and she teases him, suckling gently.

"Frankie. Frankie, s'not happening yet, fuck," Gerard finally whines when she tests him with teeth. It's sensory overload, circuits are tripping in his brain, and he can't handle it.

"Shh, it's okay, Gee." Frankie pulls off and kisses back up the midline of his belly. "We'll do it later. Wanna enjoy this." She turns the tv on instead, something mindless, and settles beside him.

He feels sleepy but entirely too full to sleep. He sighs and pats her hip clumsily. "Thanks."

"No problem, babe," Frankie says. She kisses his jaw and snuggles down, one arm across his belly like it's a body pillow. Her voice is all dreamy and distant when she adds, "I can't even see half the picture."

 

***

 

Gerard zones out, drifting on a cloud of endorphins and arousal with a soundtrack of some design show. Frankie leaves after a handful of episodes. He hears her peeing, then water running, then she comes back out with a damp rag. "You made a mess, sugarpie."

"Fuck you," Gerard says. He wrinkles his nose at her and flips her off. "You were the one shoving cake in my mouth."

"Yeah," Frankie agrees blissfully. She wipes him off carefully and rubs her cool hand over his belly. "It was fucking awesome." Her hand trails down, over and past his belly button, until it wraps firmly around his cock. Gerard hisses, thrusting up, and Frankie grins. "Why yes, Gerard, that would be fucking awesome too."

"You're a terrible wife. Awful no good human being," Gerard says.

"Now, is that really any way to speak?" She cocks an eyebrow at him and spreads his legs, kneeling between and licking hard over the head of his cock. "Especially when I do that?"

"Fuck." Gerard struggles to catch his breath. Now that his body is on board with the game plan, it feels like sensations slamming into him from all directions. Frankie doesn't wait for an answer, just swallows his cock with the ease of long practice. She's messy, filthy about it, drooling all over the place. He can't see her, but he can hear the slurping and feel spit getting everywhere.

"So hot, babe," Frankie groans and pulls off, leaving him with nothing for a split second and he sobs. "Shh, Gee," she says, and her hand is back, stroking him while she nuzzles the place between belly and dick and mumbles against his skin.

Gerard realizes she's getting off on only seeing his belly, then. He can smell her, that delicious musky scent of her cunt. _Fuck_. He groans and pulls at her hair, doing his best to arch up against her. "Frankie, wanna fuck you, come on."

"Shit yeah," Frankie says, and Gerard sighs in relief. He figures she'll sit on his cock, since she's right there, but when her sweaty flushed face pops up she's got on her patented I-have-an-idea smirk.

"Oh God, what?"

Frankie tsks at him. "Don't you trust me yet?" She crawls over him and rolls them, groaning when he lands on top of her. It almost hurts, where his belly is pressing into hers, and it can't be all that comfortable for her, either. She's wrapping her legs tight around his hips though, gasping as his belly and cock slide over her. "God, Gerard, Yes. Like that."

"Yeah?" He can do that. It's awkward, making himself get up on his knees so she can reach between them. She grabs his cock and they both moan as he pushes in. "Baby. Frankie, fuck, you're soaked."

"I know," Frankie says. She's breathless from his weight but she laughs and grabs the headboard to brace herself. "Fuck me." She grunts and grins at his first clumsy thrusts. "Harder, fuck me, _fuck_ me."

"God." Gerard wraps his hands under her shoulders for leverage and pounds into her. Her body bends under his, their flesh mashed together, and they're both sweating and cursing. Her heels dig into his ass, bruising-hard, but he doesn't care. He's too close, too into it.

He comes in rough jerks and collapses on top of her, too full and fucked out to move.

Frankie waits under him, patient for a long moment, but when he doesn't move she hits his hip. "Fucker!"

"Sorry, I. Jesus, baby." Gerard can't think enough to coordinate getting her off. It's awful but it's true. He doesn't even really feel bad about it.

"God, give a man a dozen cupcakes," Frankie says. She rolls her eyes at him but she's laughing. She pushes him off and gets herself off while he kisses her, three fingers in her cunt and their legs tangled together.


End file.
